


Blame It on Me Darling

by Random_Fandom_writer



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Arguing, Based on a Tumblr Post, Established Relationship, I combined two of the saddest prompts I could find, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Fandom_writer/pseuds/Random_Fandom_writer
Summary: Evan would really appreciate it if he picked up the damn phone, because his head hurts and his vision is blurring, and oh God he might be dying. He's dying isn't he?Or...Sometimes life has different plans.





	Blame It on Me Darling

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently realized that I've been mixing up "breathe" and "breath" in pretty much all of my fics and I'm so done with English. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Anxiety/anxiety attack, blood (it's not graphic), mentioned suicide attempt, swearing

"Connor, hey. I need- can- please listen to me." Was not what Connor was expecting to hear when he answered his phone at two a.m. In fact, he hadn't planned on hearing Evan's voice for a _very _long time.

"Hansen, you know better than to call me right now. Do me a favor and fuck off." He hung up, slamming his phone face down on his bedside table.

Couples fight, he gets it. But this was a bad one, so forgive him if he needs some _goddamn space._ Evan can survive the cold shoulder for a few days.

* * *

He called an ambulance first, he's not an idiot-

Ok maybe he is a bit of an idiot. But in all honesty, he wasn't expecting to get _fucking jumped_ on the way back to his apartment. So _excuse_ him for not taking the necessary precautions. Things like this don't happen to Evan Hansen. Nothing happens to Evan Hansen. 

***

The operator told him to stay awake, and that much is proving to be really difficult at the moment.

So he called Connor.

And Connor immediately hung up.

He gets it, he would too if his probably-soon-to-be ex boyfriend called him up in the middle of the night after one of the biggest arguments they've ever had. Although this isn't like most situations, and Evan would really appreciate it if he picked up the _damn_ phone, because his head hurts and his vision is blurring, and oh God he might be dying. He's dying isn't he?

He wants to explain, explain why he's calling. To tell him that he's not going to beg for forgiveness because he hasn't earned that yet. _If only he could just explain._

Most of all he just wants to hear his voice, because its, surprisingly, really hard to keep your breathing level when you have a knife wound in your chest. Connor could help. He knows how to calm him down.

_'Pick up.'_

_Pickuppickuppickuppickuppickup-_

He pressed redial, holding the phone to his ear with one while the other came over to cup his mouth.

_ The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the beep. _

Yeah, a voicemail won't cut it at the moment. Any other fucking day of the week that would have been just fine, but as Evan lay bloodied in the back of an alleyway, he thinks this best be a conversation for the both of them. Right now preferably.

This will have to do.

_Beep_

"Um, hey there." A humorless chuckle. "So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but-" he broke of as he coughed. "I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation. So I'm go-ing to the hospital. It's- I'm all good though so you don't have to worry or anything. Yeah I'll be fine." At this point he was reassuring himself more than Connor. "But I- I love you and um." He paused, swallowing the tightness in his throat. "I'm sorry." And Evan thinks his voice has been replaced with that of a pre-pubescent girl because wow, that came out high pitch. "For- for tonight, and- and every other night we fought over... Over stuff." A beat. "So... Yeah. That's it. Bye." He paused before adding, "I love you."

_ If you would like to re-record your message press- _

* * *

_ Incoming call from: Tree boy _

_ Ding _

_One new voicemail_

_'Ignore.'_

_Ignoreignoreignoreignoreignore-_

***

He almost picked it up. Almost unlocked his phone and listened, listened to whatever pitiful pleas for forgiveness he'd dish out that night. Almost threw out the whole cold shoulder bit he was going for because _'come on, it's Evan."_

Not tonight.

He wouldn't cave for him, _no siree. _

His phone didn't light up with another voicemail or text, and Connor had to berate himself for feeling annoyed because _'well jeez, I thought he'd have put in more effort.'_

* * *

Evan prays the ambulance gets here soon, because _'this is worse than the fucking tree thing.'_

Of course it's worse than the tree thing. At least he had wanted to die then.

Now he's not so sure.

He doesn't think he wants to die. In fact, it seems like a pretty unpleasant notion at the moment. If he's going to die he'd like it to be a voluntary thing you know? At least then you're in control.

He's not in control right now.

Evan can't control his breathing, or the blood steadily pooling from his stomach, or the onslaught of both pained and frustrated tears gathering in his eyes. He can't control what time the ambulance will get here, whether or not it'll arrive early or late, or right on schedule. He can't control Connors decision to call him back, if he decides to meet him at the hospital, determine if he'll grab his hand, whispering soft reassurances and words of forgiveness into his neck. He really, really can't.

All Evan can do is wait. Wait and hope for the best possible outcome.

* * *

It comes as a surprise when they rush in a patient during the middle of Heidi's shift. Mugging victim. A young male from what Heidi could tell during the brief glimpse she got as he was rushed in on a gurney.

Blond hair too.

And a blue polo.

Oh.

***

"Who did they just wheel in exactly?" Her voice came out rushed and urgent. She silently cursed all the times she asked Evan to slow down and not slur words, because she thinks she gets it now.

Janine, her co-worker, typed something into her computer, eyes widening as they scanned the screen. "Evan Hansen?" She gasped slightly. "That's your son right?"

_'No.'_

_Nononononononono-_

***

Heidi is very familiar with the waiting game, although usually its her having to calm down the room before an impatient family member docks a poor nurse in the nose.

It's her instead, pacing the lobby as she waits for an update.

She should call Connor. Connor would like to know. Yeah, she'll call Connor.

She unpockets Evan's phone. They'd given it to her before going into surgery.

_ Calling: Connor <3 _

* * *

_ Incoming call from: Tree boy _

Of course, right as he was falling back asleep.

He answered the call, snarling. "What do you want? "

_"Hospital."_

"What?"

_"Get to the hospital."_

"Ms. Hansen?"

_"Evan's hurt."_

he sucked in a breath, skin whitening.

"Yeah, ok I'll- I'm coming."

***

So maybe he was speeding a bit. '_It's not like anybody'll catch me, it's like, three in the fucking morning.'_

The music's not loud enough he decided as he cranked up the radio. Some weird techno/rock mix-up thing was playing. Connor doesn't know, it's not like he's actually paying attention. He just needed something to fill the silence.

So he wouldn't have to think. Think about why Evan's in the hospital exactly.

And if it had anything to do with tonight. 

It was anybody's knowledge that Evan is not the poster boy of perfect mental health. And Connor is _very_ sleep deprived and _very_ paranoid. So maybe his brain is jumping to some conclusions that may or may not be rational.

He pushes harder on the accelerator.

* * *

Heidi stalls for the first time since Evan was brought in, because Connor's here and he looks awful.

His skin is pale and sweaty, as if he'd ran up the several flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator to get here. With a heaving chest, he quickly made his way across the floor to stand in front of Heidi and _dear God _he looked even worse up close.

His hair was an absolute disaster, which is alarming in itself as Connor is very conscious of his hair, making sure its never greasy, or messy, or tangled. Paired with heavy breathing, his hands shook violently by his sides and Heidi had to fight the mom impulse to still them with her own. Useless as hers were trembling just as much.

"What happened?"

Heidi frowned, leading him over to a row of interconnected chairs, gently guiding him to sit down.

"Wait here a sec sweetie." She walked out of sight and Connor had a brief moment of panic before she rounded the corner once again, this time a plastic cup in hand. She kneeled in front of him, shoving the cup in his face. "Drink."

"I don't-"

_"Drink."_

Connor didn't need to be asked twice.

***

"Oh my God." Connor sunk into the chair, one hand coming up to tug at his hair, the other trapped in Heidi's tight hold.

"I know."

"Is he- will he be ok?"

"...I don't know."

***

"Family of Evan Hansen?"

They both stood.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

Any words after _I'm sorry_ are lost in translation. At least for Connor. He can't really hear anything outside of the buzzing in his ears.

He vaguely registers Heidi collapsing into the chair she'd previously occupied, and the tears that follow.

He doesn't remember walking back to his car, opening the driver seat door, and locking it behind him before driving slowly until he reaches the abandoned Autumn Smiles Apple Orchard parking lot. 

However he does remember screaming. He remembers slamming his hand onto the horn just to hear the sound blare loudly in his ears, anything to convince himself that he's awake. He remembers shouting profanities into the air, getting increasingly louder and louder until his voice cracks and he finally falls into a fit of sobs.

He remembers the voicemail.

The voicemail Evan left him.

And he finds himself moving, almost mechanically, for his phone.

_"Um, hey there." _Evan's crackly voice emits from the phone and he almost fucking throws it out the window because _he's not ready for this._

He doesn't.

_"So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but-"_ a cough sounded through the receiver and he brought a hand up to cover his mouth instinctively. That stutter. That fucking stutter. _"I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation."_ He snorts. Who says that anymore? _"So I'm go-ing to the hospital. It's- I'm all good though so you don't have to worry or anything. Yeah I'll be fine."_ Connor notes how breathy his voice is by this point. _"But I- I love you and-"_

Nope.

He quickly brings the phone away from his ear, tears already streaming down his cheeks.

_ If you want to save this voicemail, press 1 _

_ Beep _

_ Voicemail saved _

* * *

It was morning by the time he stumbled into the house. He must have fallen asleep in his car. Or not. He can't really remember anything passed the whole voicemail breakdown thing, and even the events beforehand are a little blurry.

"Connor James Murphy, where were you? Do you have any idea how worried we were?" And now Cynthia is putting on her mean face, which is _exactly_ what Connor needs right now. "I was this close-" she held her fingers close together, almost touching- "to calling the cops. We though you were _dead."_

_'Dead.'_

_deaddeaddeaddeaddead-_

The room turned to black.

***

"Con-nor. Connor. Fucking wake up."

"Zoe, stop hitting your brother."

"It's probably all those damn drugs he takes."

He finds his voice, and his footing. "Nnnh."

Ok, so maybe he hasn't found his voice quite yet.

He clenched his jaw, moving into a sitting position with his head against the door.

"Connor, what's wrong?"

And there he goes again, a muffled whimper catching in his throat. He's gonna be super dehydrated later.

"Evan."

"What- what about Evan?"

"He's-" He broke off, screwing his eyes shut. "He..."

No matter how many times he opens his mouth, he can't fucking say it.

And maybe he doesn't need to, because Cynthia is crossing the room, kneeling down, and wrapping him into a hug. And for the first time in a long time, he finds himself hugging her back.

* * *

_"Um, hey th-"_

**

_"Um, hey there. So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for call-"_

_***_

_"Um h-"_

_***_

_"Um, hey there. So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but- I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation. So I'm go-ing to the hospital. It's- I'm all good though so you don't have to worry or anything. Yeah I'll be-"_

_***_

_"Um, hey there. So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but- I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation. So I'm go-ing to the hospital. It's- I'm all good though so you don't have to worry or anything. Yeah I'll be fine. But I- I love you and um. I'm sorry. For-"_

_***_

_"Um, hey there. So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but- I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation-"_

_***_

_"Um, hey there. So- so I'm um- I'm sorry for calling, especially now but- I've kinda gotten into a sticky... Situation. So I'm go-ing to the hospital. It's- I'm all good though so you don't have to worry or anything. Yeah I'll be fine. But I- I love you and um. I'm sorry. For- for tonight, and- and every other night we fought over... Over stuff. So... Yeah. That's it. Bye. I love you."_

* * *

It's all he has left. The voicemail. He's only been able to get through the whole thing once, and even then, he ended up having a panic attack and digging into his sock drawer for the small baggie of weed he'd kept _just in case._

Evan would be disappointed. He'd been clean for half a year now.

He sort of felt like that cartoon of a dog, surrounded by flaming furniture and sipping tea.

This is fine.

***

This is not fine

Connor can't live like this.

* * *

He can't help but feel like it was his fault. Not just a little bit, a lot a bit.

If he hadn't argued, if he hadn't kicked him out, if he'd talked it out like a normal, functioning human, if he didn't let him leave angry, if he picked up the phone the _first_ time he called-

Maybe they wouldn't be here. Standing around a casket.

_'Your fault.'_

_Yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault-_

It was all his fault.

He killed Evan Hansen.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know this isn't how a phone works, and it isn't that easy to save a voicemail, but I really can't be bothered to properly write how its supposed to go.
> 
> Also, I felt like crying while writing this and I can't tell if that's a good thing or not.


End file.
